Grace Under Fire
by comealongpixie
Summary: Medical mystery Grace Winchester has felt alienated from her brothers Sam and Dean for as long as she can remember. When their father goes missing, the three of them team up to find him, setting off a chain of events that will change both their family and the world forever. Sisfic, canon divergent. Ships inside.
1. Say a Prayer but Let the Good Times Roll

**Title:** Grace Under Fire (because i'm pun-loving trash)

**Rating: **M for violence, language, sex, and dark subject matter

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural and I do not receive any monetary compensation for writing this story.

**Trigger Warnings:** Rape/Sexual Assault; Victim-Blaming; Misogyny and biphobia (both external and internalized); Mentions of Eating Disorder; Codependency; Emotional Abuse; Drug addiction; Sex worker Dean (consensual and sex-positive but I know sex work still can be a trigger so I'm putting it here. It's like two lines of implication though.)

**Characters:** Grace Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Adam Milligan, Jo Harvelle, Michael, Ruby, Kevin Tran, various OCs

**Main Pairings:** Grace/Jo (one-sided), Grace/Ruby, Grace/Michael, Grace/Kevin, Michael/Kevin, Grace/Michael/Kevin, Sam/OFC

Now that that's all established: Hey everyone! If you follow me on tumblr at sisficionado then you know that I love sisfics, and that I've been planning this story for some time. Now it's finally time to publish and I'm super excited! Grace is a character I've had in various rps for over a year and she's very close to my heart. I'm going to start with a few notes for readers who like to look before they leap, but I promise later chapters won't have this long commentary.

The story starts just before the pilot, and it'll become apparent early on that the story is canon divergent. Don't worry, the apocalypse plotline and everything leading up to it is in tact; things just unfold a little differently, with a few extra elements. The story includes a lot of original cases and lore. In particular it expands on the hunting community as a culture and on the history behind the angels and Heaven. It also includes a number of OCs, but is mostly centered on the characters mentioned in the...summary thingie up there.

I'd also like to note that I have a lot of ideas as to where this story could eventually go, certain subplots I'm not 100% sure I'm going to use, etc. The information here only refers to the things I am certain will happen.

Anyway, if you have the time, please review-I've poured my heart and soul into this story and these characters and I'd love to hear what you think! Also, if you like, you may check out the blog for this story, gracecamilla-dot-tumblr-dot-com (if it's easier for you, there is a link on my profile.) The blog contains pictures and manips of Grace's faceclaim (Emilie de Ravin), other OCs, songs, meta, and me laughing at my own jokes.

Lastly, I'd like to thank a couple people without whom this story would never be possible. My best bitches Brittany and Maddi have been incredible, serving as everything from muses to sounding boards to voices of reason-even letting me borrow their OCs and co-writing certain scenes with me. Their support and motivation is invaluable. They keep me sane and they laugh at my jokes.

I'd also like to thank all the lovelies over at sisficionado for enabling my obsession and making the world brighter with every Winchester sister OC that is created. You guys are awesome. In particular, I'd like to thank Erin (dwellindreams1019) and Christine (prettypanda117)-the authors of my two favorite sisfics, Carry On and and Where the Wayward Tread, respectively. Your enthusiasm and dedication is truly inspiring.

And now, finally, onto the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

**Lawrence Memorial Hospital. May 3rd, 1983. 1:06 AM. **

John Winchester ran a hand down his face and glanced over at his children. They were asleep, both of them, tangled up in the chair next to him, with Sam on Dean's lap. John had tried to take Sam from his oldest son, but Dean had insisted, clinging to his brother, and Sam seemed content with this.

Even now, Sam was sleeping like a rock. Yesterday had been his birthday, and he was still wearing the frosting from his cake. Dean's rest was less peaceful-even curled up with his head on the arm of the chair, he seemed ready to jump up at any moment. John could relate. It's how he'd slept most nights since he'd gotten back from Vietnam. His stomach turned at the thought of his boy as a veteran.

But kids were resilient in a way adults weren't. Dean would be okay. Sammy would be okay. He tried to tell convince himself, over and over. Trying not to think about fire and blood and the fact that Mary, his Mary, was _gone gone gone. _Trying not to think about the fact that there was no possible way their daughter could have survived the fire when Mary didn't. That at any moment, a doctor would come out, apologize for his loss, and he wouldn't be surprised but it would still be another knife twisting in his gut.

For as long as he'd been here-and he was not sure how long it had been-a doctor had come out every so often, telling him that his daughter was struggling, but not hopeless. She's a fighter, they told him. There's a chance.

But John knew from personal experience that a fighting spirit was no guarantee of survival.

John was no fool. In his mind, he knew that his daughter would never survive. There was just no way. No way she could survive her mother's charred remains-three months before the due date, no less.

And yet.

Deep in his heart, he couldn't help but hold onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd survive. The medical staff certainly seemed to think there was a chance, otherwise he wouldn't still be here. As for John himself, maybe he just needed something to hold onto, some light in what was the darkest night of his life, because trying to let go of that hope was like trying to to pull teeth.

"Mr. Winchester?"

John looked up abruptly. In front of him was a tall, dark-skinned woman in scrubs, looking as exhausted as he felt.

"I'm Dr. Alderman. I'm the head surgeon here."

"Look, I-"

"Your daughter is alive." She seemed to pick up on the helplessness in his eyes, because she refused to let him finish. "She's...fragile. Her lungs weren't fully formed. We didn't think she'd make it, but she just wouldn't give up. She's stable now. You can see her if you like."

John blinked up at her the way one blinks at the sun in the morning, when it feels like it was so dark just moments ago. It took what felt like a long time for her words to sink in. Then he looked over at his sons.

"We can have a nurse look after them," the doctor assured him.

He nodded. Stood up slowly. Refused to leave the room until he saw with his own eyes that his children were being looked after, and even then he was reluctant to leave. Then he followed the surgeon down a series of hallways, and it felt like hours and seconds all at once before he was standing behind a glass screen, staring at his daughter.

She was the tiniest baby he'd ever seen, covered in a strange coat of thin blonde hair. She was lying on her stomach in an incubator, with tubes hooked up to her. Her thumbs were in her mouth, and she looked to be asleep.

It was a strange feeling, twisted and bittersweet. This was his baby, his daughter. Any joy he felt came along with guilt, and that guilt came with more guilt-as if his baby girl deserved his affection, and Mary deserved his devastation, and he should only be able to feel one at a time.

He stared helplessly, feeling very lost. _Mary should be here. _

A moment later, a clipboard was pushed into his hands. A birth certificate was held in place by the metal clip, and a pen was attached to the top.

And every disagreement over names that had taken place between John and his wife seemed so very inconsequential now. There was no question. He didn't even hesitate before scribbling out the name that Mary had wanted.

_Grace Camilla Winchester. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**21 Years later. Jericho, California**.

"OPEN UP MY EAGER EYES CAUSE I'M MISTER BRIGHTSIDE."

The window of her truck is open, whipping her already perpetually messy hair every which way. Her shirt says Led Zeppelin-a birthday gift from Dean, several years old-but the car radio is set on a station dedicated to more recent hits, and the wind isn't loud enough to mask Grace singing along, very much off-key.

She appreciates the sentiment of the shirt, anyway. She's wearing it, after all. And she likes Zeppelin, if more out of nostalgia than personal taste. Dean teases her when she listens to anything outside of his definition of quote-unquote "real music" around him. So she doesn't.

But Dean isn't here now. It's just her. She's coming from an interview with a man whose wife committed suicide, an interview that confirmed her father's suspicions about the nature of the spirit they're hunting. And now, driving back to the motel, she allows herself a moment of freedom. Because these drives keep her sane. As much as Grace adores her father, he can be smothering at times. Most of the time. Almost all of the time. And her brothers, when they're around-well, they're no better.

The music comes to an abrupt stop as Grace cuts the engine. The sole decoration in her car, some symbol meant to protect against the evil eye that hangs from the rearview mirror, bounces around at the sudden stop. She reaches up, grabbing it to stop it from swinging, and then hops out of the car and pockets her hands, heading for the motel room.

Despite the slowly dwindling sunlight outside, it's dim inside the musty room, the blinds pulled shut tight, and when she steps inside, light is cast from the door across one of the beds, the one on which her father is sitting. He's staring at a closed manila folder, frowning, thoughtful. He looks intense, which is not unusual for him, but she doesn't like it all the same.

"Daddy?" she asks cautiously. Her father tends to do this, to get lost deep in thought, and sometimes when he does, he doesn't like being interrupted. He has always tried not to show it, but she always knows. She'll ask for his attention, and he'll turn to her and ask "Yes, Grace?" and his irritation is clear-clear in his tone, in his eyes, in the way he addresses her sans nickname. And Grace will say "Nevermind," and slink off out of the way, unsure of when he'll come out of his head again.

This time, though, he looks up and smiles. "Hey, Pumpkin." He looks tired, more tired than usual, but there's something in his eyes, something that feels vaguely familiar, but she can't quite place it.

She pushes her curiosity away reluctantly and returns her focus to the matter at hand. "You were right," she says. "The guy cheated on his wife."

John just nods. "Good job, Gracie." She beams at the compliment and nods in thanks. Then she points to the folder in his hands.

"Is that new stuff on Constance?"

He shakes his head. "Just some stuff I'm looking into." She knows better than to push for more information, so she just nods. "Listen," he says. "Dean called. He's over in New Orleans-"

"I know where he is," she interrupts, sounding mildly offended.

"-And he said he needed some back-up. I told him you'd be there asap."

Grace blinks. John never sends Grace on hunts without him. Never. Not that she's never hunted without him, but it's always been without his knowledge, let alone his blessing. He's always been so adverse to the idea, but now...

She nods quickly, grinning again despite herself. "Yes, Sir." She rarely calls her father "sir," but the word slips out and she doesn't bother to pull it back. "I'll get packed."

"Good girl."

In her nervous enthusiasm, it takes her longer than usual to get packed, but in fifteen minutes she's throwing her duffel into the backseat of her truck.

John seems to hug her a little longer before she leaves.

She will regret not asking why.

* * *

><p><strong>Two days later. New Orleans, Louisiana. <strong>

She knocks three times on Dean's motel door. She has a key-swiped it from the front desk, but boys are gross and she knows better than to walk in on one unannounced.

It's a long moment after knocking before she registers the nature of the sounds coming from Dean's room. She considers going back to her car-there's a mattress under the camper shell, thin and uncomfortable as it is-before deciding against it. In her sleep-deprived state, it seems very obvious that this is intentional.

It had occurred to her more than once during the drive that when Dean asked for back up, he hadn't been expecting John to send her, and probably hadn't been thrilled at the arrangement. Dean doesn't see his sister as being any more capable than their father does-maybe even less so. This kind of microagression is exactly up Dean's alley, and ordinarily she might let it go, but the drive had been long and unkind and _fuck_, she's tired.

She knocks again, harder this time, and tries to sound distressed. "DEAN! HELP!" The sounds stop, and then she hears voices, too faint to make out through the motel walls, and some banging sounds-the kind made by hard footsteps on thin flooring. Then the door opens, and Dean is there-shirtless, disheveled, looking worried and irritated all at once, which is kind of how he always looks when Grace is involved.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Grace absently glances behind him, into the room, and sees a redheaded woman tugging her clothes on. She turns her attention back to Dean quickly. "But it's nice to have your attention."

Dean's expression turns sour, but before he can say anything, the redhead-now fully clothed-pushes past the two of them. Grace turns back a little to watch her. The woman turns around, waving a wad of cash pointedly with one hand and flipping Dean off with the other.

Then she gets in her car and drives away.

Dean groans and turns back to Grace. "You're bad for business, you know that?"

Grace doesn't answer. "You gonna let me in?"

"She says, as if I have a choice," Dean mutters, but he steps aside to let her in anyway. Grace rolls her eyes as her brother tugs his shirt on. The sheets on the bed, the only bed in the room, are still messy, so Grace leans against the door, crossing her arms.

"Wow. You're welcome, by the way, for driving two days straight because you can't handle some voodoo shit on your own."

"Watch your language," he says, more out of habit than anything. "And I didn't ask you to come. In fact, why _did_ you come?"

Grace opens her mouth to protest, but stops before she can form words. She's been set up, she realizes. They both have. She feels the color drain from her face. _What could be so bad that Dad would lie to get me out of the way?_

"Grace?" Dean sounds worried again.

"...Dad said you asked for back-up."

Dean stares. Then something clicks, and at once, they both lunge for the side table on which Dean's phone is sitting. Dean gets to it first and checks his messages while his sister stands on tip-toe beside him, trying to see the phone.

The most recent message is from their father. He hits play.

"_Dean...something big is starting to...I need to try and figure out what's going on._" The message is staticky and broken. "_It may...be very careful, Dean. Watch out for Gr...we're all in danger._"

And then it ends.

"That was yesterday," Dean says, after a moment of silence. He turns to Grace. "When'd you last hear from him?"

"Not since I left a couple days ago. I called him from the road, but he didn't pick up." Pale and wide-eyed, she's regretting not asking more question before she left. She knows John wouldn't have answered them, he never has, but...maybe he would have, this time. If she had asked. But she hadn't.

Dean swears profusely and runs a hand down his face.

"Play the message again," Grace says after a moment. He does.

"_Dean...something big is starting to...I need to try and_-"

Grace grabs her brother's arm more tightly than necessary. "There. You hear that?"

"Yeah. EVP."

"I'll get my laptop."

When she steps outside, she expects to feel a cool burst of night air, something to clear her head, but the night is just as hot as the day here in New Orleans, and she's left with her thoughts, messy and clouded. She puts herself on autopilot as she grabs her laptop. Reassures herself that everything will be fine, lays out a clear prediction as to what will happen, starting with hearing the EVP and ending with finding their father, alive, in a couple of days. She allows her emotions to flow through these channels, and only these channels, kept in check by faith. Faith is all she has.

Faith is all she's ever had, really.

She comes inside, hooks Dean's phone up to the computer, and sets both on the table. For once, Dean steps back and lets her work. Sam had taught her everything she knows about computers before leaving for Stanford, and although she's not as proficient as he is, she works well with computers. They're easy, once you know how to talk to them. Unlike people.

Sometimes she wonders if people are just messy and always will be, or if there's just some language barrier that she has yet to cross.

Sure enough, the EVP tracker presents her with audio a minute later.

"_I can never...go...home…_"

"Never go home," Dean repeats, arms crossed, frowning in thought. He's bent over, leaning over her shoulder, watching the screen.

"He was hunting a woman in white," Grace supplies.

"I mean, yeah, I knew that." Dean straightens up, pacing a little. "But why'd he send you away?"

"And why'd he lie about it?" This isn't the first time John's sent Grace away when a hunt got too dangerous. But he's never done so without telling her why, and never over something like this. Women in White are basic. "...Dad's in trouble, isn't he?"

"Looks like."

"Call him. Maybe he'll pick up."

Dean doesn't look any more confident than Grace feels, but he calls anyway. She can hear their father's voicemail play through the speaker.

"Nada." Dean hangs up the phone and slips it into his pocket.

"So now what?" Dean will know what to do. He always does.

"Well, now we head over to where he was last. Swing by Stanford on the way." He starts packing, tossing his things into a familiar duffle bag. "I'll take first shift packing-no offense, sis, but you look like Hell." He half-smiles at her, trying to look more confident than he feels.

"What about my-wait, Stanford? You wanna bring Sam into this?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, it's his dad too that's missing."

_Missing._ It's hard to hear out loud.

"I just-are you sure he'll wanna help?"

Dean zips his duffel bag shut and slings it over his shoulder. "Yeah. I'm sure." But he doesn't sound or look as sure as he wants to be.

She decides not to question it for now.

* * *

><p>AN: _But what's going to happen to Grace's car?_


	2. Family Reunion

A/N: This took 50000 years but in my defense I was switching medications and being angry about SPN and Agents of Shield. Anyway, you may have noticed this chapter is in present tense. I went and changed chapter 1 to present tense as well (except for the prologue.) I just like writing present tense more and I'm honestly not sure why I tried to force myself to write this in past tense? I don't know. I don't know. Anyway I'm sorry if present tense is like a major dealbreaker for any of you guys but I hope there's no hard feelings.

There's a point in this chapter where it might seem like the dialogue is directly lifted and unedited from the pilot, but you probably should read through it anyway. It's got a lot of original stuff in it, and it has a lot of exposition on Grace's character and her relationship with her brothers. But that's just a recommendation-I'm not your mom. Do what you want. Don't let people tell you how to live your life.

Trigger warnings for this chapter are dissociation, internalized ableism (autism), and like...idk if I would call it internalized homo/biphobia but it's definitely repression so.

Anyway, if you have the time to review, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

_Go on, make it easy, say I never mattered. _

_-_Young Volcanoes/Fall Out Boy

"Grace. Wake up."

She blinks herself awake, squinting a little.

"We're here," Dean says, and gets out of the car. Grace allows herself an extra moment to regain clarity before following.

She looks up at the tall, brick building. She's been here before, driven by with John to make sure Sam is okay, but has never actually gone inside or, you know, spoken to her brother. The thought is intimidating, and that's kind of sad, she thinks, that she's scared to talk to her own brother.

Nevertheless, she follows Dean inside.

"Are you sure we need Sam for this?" she asks in a whisper.

"You heard dad, Gracie," Dean says. "We're _all_ in danger."

He's not wrong. Even if Sam isn't strictly necessary for this...whatever this is, he needs to know about it. She sighs. "Fine."

They're quiet until they reach Sam's door, at which point Dean stops.

"Hey. Look at me."

She turns to him. His tone has given her the expectation that he's about to give her some kind of pep talk or brotherly reassurance. Instead, he pulls one of the pins she uses to keep her hair off her face, and then crouches down and turned his attention to the doorknob.

It takes her a moment to recalibrate. "What are you doing?"

"The hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"Um...not knocking like a normal person would?"

"Sam won't open the door." He says it so matter-of-factly, so confidently, and her heart breaks a little. She herself isn't so sure-she would like to believe that Sam isn't quite that bitter towards them-but she has never been so close to Sam as Dean has, she didn't and doesn't know him like Dean did and does, and so she stays quiet. ***

The door springs open, and Dean stands up again. "I need a beer."

Grace rolls her eyes at this, but glances around and heads towards what looks like the kitchen anyway. A beer doesn't sound too terrible to her either.

There's not much in the fridge. Some hot pockets, leftover pizza and-for some reason-soy sauce. No beer, though, and she finds her attention drifting. Her eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and she can see the wooden kitchen table, and what looks like a picture hung on the wall, and it's all so very _domestic, _it's hard to reconcile with the brother she saw take down demons and werewolves during their adolescence.

And then there's a thud, and the sound of a scuffle, and she doesn't stop, doesn't take time to process, just hurries back over to the living room to find that Dean has Sam pinned to the ground.

"You scared the crap out of me!"

Grace freezes in the doorway, paralyzed by the sound of Sam's voice. That voice was once as familiar to her as air, but now it sounds very foreign, and cold somehow, even if his tone is-surprisingly-not.

Dean seems to have no such reservations, utterly comfortable with Sam, even after four years. A knot forms in Grace's stomach, a familiar feeling from before Sam had left, from when they were a family. The kind of feeling that springs up when you're alone.

"That's cause you're out of practice," Dean says.

More scuffle sounds, and it's Sam who's got Dean pinned.

"Or not." Dean sounds more amused than anything. "Get off me."

Sam rolls to his feet and helps Dean up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I was looking for a beer."

"He doesn't have any," Grace announces. "Maybe it's a Stanford thing."

Sam whirls around. "Grace? You're here too?"

"...Nice to see you too?"

"Listen, we need to talk," Dean says. Sam turns his attention back to him, and Grace finds herself feeling relieved and disappointed all at once.

"Phone?"

"Would you have answered?"

The light turns on before Sam can answer, and a female voice asks "Sam?"

The three of them turn in unison to the source of the voice. There's a tall woman standing in the doorway, squinting in the light. She's pretty, probably one of the prettiest girls Grace has ever seen, all long blonde hair and long tan legs that are very much uncovered.

Grace swallows hard and glances away quickly. The jealous knot in her stomach is back.

"Jess, hey. Dean, Grace, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

"Wait, your brother Dean? And this is your sister?" Grace glances up at this. She can feel a blush creeping into her cheeks, and looks down again, pocketing her hands.

Yeah. Jealous.

Footsteps. Then, "I love the Smurfs." Dean. "You know, I gotta tell you, you are way out of my brother's league."

"Dean." Grace looks up, finally, keeping her eyes on her oldest brother. "Don't be a creep."

"Let me just go put something on," Jess says.

"No, wouldn't dream of it."

"_Dean_," Grace warns again, louder this time. Dean ignores her. She glances at Jess, who doesn't look particularly intimidated or uncomfortable-just very _done_ with Dean. Grace smiles slightly.

"Anyway," Dean says, going back over to Sam, "I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meeting you."

"No." It's strange, but for a moment, Grace forgot Sam was there. His face is stony, and this time his voice really is cold. "No. Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her."

Dean looks unruffled. "Okay," he says. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So he's working overtime on the Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Grace glares and crosses her arms defensively, as if Sam's comment on John was directed towards her. Sam doesn't seem to notice.

_Dean was right_, she thinks. _Nothing's changed. _

"Let's try again," Dean says. "Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Realization seems to hit Sam then. "Jess, excuse us," he murmurs.

"Of course," Jess says quietly. Grace keeps her confusion to herself, stays quiet as Sam makes his way across the room and out into the hall. Just follows.

Sam checks the door, making sure it's closed before turning to his siblings.

"So what makes you think he's missing?"

"Well, she's here, for one thing." Dean gestures to Grace. She waves awkwardly.

"So? The hunt got bad, he sent her away. He's done it before."

"But he's never lied about it. Look, he-he just-" Grace sighs in frustration, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Come down with us," Dean says, but not before a moment of waiting for Grace to continue. "We've got something to show you." He turns and heads down the stairs. Grace starts to follow, then turns back and stares until Sam sighs and heads after them.

"Come on," he says. "You can't just show up, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you."

"You're not hearing us, Sammy," Dean says. "Dad's missing. We need you to help us find him."

"You remember the poltergeist from amherst? Or the banshee in Oakland? He's always missing, and he's always fine." There's an almost palpable bitterness in Sam's voice.

"Not like this. So are you coming or not?"

"I'm not."

"Why not?" Dean pauses, turns around to face him.

"I swore I was done hunting. For good."

"Come on, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

"Yeah? When I told dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."

"Yeah, and as I recall, the nightmares stopped after that." Sam glances back at his sister as if, in her long silence, he forgot she was there. She raises a brow at him pointedly.

"That's not the point," Sam says. "He was supposed to say, don't be afraid of the dark."

"And he did. He told you to be ready instead."

Sam doesn't answer-just sighs. He sounds tired and sad and frustrated all at once, even without any words.

"Look," he says, and for some reason his voice sounds very far away. "The way we grew up, after mom died, and the obsession to find the thing that killed her-"

This is where Grace's awareness of the conversation is lost. It happens sometimes, in situations like this, with emotions running high. They try to keep it under wraps, but the animosity between her brothers is almost palpable and entirely overwhelming, and her mind shuts it out without her consent.

She follows them anyway, staying quiet. She can hear their words, but they don't sound like words, just sound, like hearing someone talk underwater. She grips the railing of the stairs tightly, trying to pull herself back to Earth. It doesn't work. She trips slightly as she follows her brothers outside. Dean grabs her arm, steadying her, and it brings her back for a moment-

"...And that's why you ran away?"

"We're getting off topic." She gets the words out quickly, before they can keep talking, before she can slip away again. She tries to sound stable, calm, in-control, but Sam seems to pick up on her anxiety anyway. Because he still wants to bicker, Grace can tell, but he sets it aside anyway.

"Alright," he says gently, "What was dad hunting?"

Grace takes a breath; Dean takes a moment, waiting for her to speak up, before speaking for her. "They were working a case down in Jericho. A woman in white."

"Dad told me Dean needed back-up," Grace jumps back in, determined not to fall into silence again. "Sent me to New Orleans-"

"Dean was working his own case?"

Dean stares. "I'm twenty-six, dude." He sounds mildly offended.

"And I get there, and I find out Dean never called. Dad lied to get me out of there."

"Okay, so that's...unusual. But it doesn't mean he's missing."

"Not done yet," Dean says. He opens the trunk of the impala, then the spare tire compartment. The arsenal is messy, cluttered; Grace makes a mental note to organize it later. Dean rummages around for a moment-"Let's see, where'd I put that thing-" and the novelty of waiting for him to remember starts to wear off, so Grace pulls out the hand-held recorder from her pocket and hands it to him.

He shoots her a look. She smiles innocently.

He turns back to Dean. "So. Somewhere between Grace taking off and showing up at my door, Dad left me this." He hits play.

"_Dean...something big is starting to...I need to try and figure out what's going on_…"

"You know there's EVP on that, right?"

"Not bad, Sammy." Dean grins. "Kinda like riding a bike." Grace can't help but smile a little at that.

"Gracie ran it through a goldwave, and we got this." Grace stands a little taller at this. It's not even a compliment, just a statement of facts, but it has the same effect.

Sam looks intent, focused as the EVP plays. "Never go home," he murmurs thoughtfully.

"You know, in almost two years, I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." Dean's tone is still casual, matter-of-fact, but Grace can tell he's feeling desperate. She wonders vaguely what happened two years ago, what broke the silence between her brothers, even temporarily.

Sam sighs, finally. "Alright. I'll go. I'll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just...wait here."

"What's Monday?"

"I have this...it's an interview."

"What, a job interview?" Dean scoffs. "Skip it."

"It's a law school interview. And it's my whole future on a plate."

"Law School?" Dean smirks. Sam narrows his eyes.

"So we got a deal or not?"

Dean is silent.

"Yes, we have a deal," Grace says finally.

"No." Grace looks up at Dean, startled. "We-" he gestures to himself, and then Sam-"Have a deal. We, on the other hand-" and now he gestures to himself, Sam, and then Grace-"do not. You're not coming."

"What?!" Her voice is too loud for the time of night that it is, but either she doesn't notice or doesn't care. Maybe both. "You wouldn't even know he was missing if it wasn't for me!"

"Yeah, and you've been very helpful. And now Sam and I are gonna handle it, while you stay as far away from Jericho as possible." His nonchalant tone adds insult to injury, and she finds herself at a loss for words. She turns to Sam for defense, but he just shoots her a sympathetic look and heads upstairs.

She shoots another glance at Dean, who looks utterly unwavering, arms crossed and eyes challenging. And then she takes off after Sam, jogging to catch up.

"Don't let him do this!" she begs, following him up the stairs. His height puts him at an advantage, so she takes them two at a time to catch up to him.

He sighs. "Look, dad didn't want you involved in this-"

"Since when have you give a rat's ass about what dad wants?"

Sam flinches slightly, and Grace can't help but feel a twinge of regret. More than a twinge, really. Probably more regret than is strictly necessary or practical.

"Since it has to do with keeping you safe! And watch your language." Grace scoffs slightly. He sounds just like their father. The regret is still there, but she buries it.

"So it's okay for you to risk your life, but not for me to risk mine? What, do you think you're a better hunter than me or something?"

He sighs again. "Look, why don't you stay here, look after Jess? You know, just in case."

"Why would..." Grace halts as realization dawns on her. The conversation from before makes sense now. Everything makes sense now.

"She doesn't know," she says slowly.

"No," Sam says, shifting uncomfortably, "And she's not going to."

"Sam, that's a bad idea."

"Look, just-please don't tell her anything. Just stay here, alright? Besides, I think you'd really like her if you got to know her."

She feels a blush crawl back into her face. "I'm not saying I wouldn't, I just-"

"Dad said we're all in danger, right? What if that includes her?" And for the first time, he seems genuinely worried. Even if he's not aware of it, even if he thinks he's just trying to keep Grace out of the way-

"Okay," Grace says finally. "I'll stay with her."

Sam smiles a little. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>"But what about the interview?"<p>

Sam's in a hurry, tossing clothes into a duffel bag. Early start, early return. Or something. He glances up from his packing. Jess is watching him, looking more worried by the second.

"I'll make the interview," he assures her. "This is only for a couple days. Listen, is it okay if my sister crashes her while I'm gone? Our dad's probably wrecked. She doesn't need to see him like that."

"I mean-yeah, of course she can stay, but...Sam, slow down for a second. You're sure you're okay?" She catches his arm, turning him to face her, and studies him, and he wonders, like he has wondered so many times before, if she can tell when he's lying to her.

"I'm fine." He smiles. She lets him go.

"Alright," she says. And he thinks, this is too easy. She shouldn't let it drop so fast. But he can't worry too much about it right now. Later, maybe.

"Hey. Look. Everything is gonna be okay, I promise." He's speaking to himself as much as to her. Then he drops a kiss on her cheek and leaves the room.

"At least tell me where you're going!" she says, but he pretends not to hear.

He heads out into the living room, where Grace is standing by the front door. She's doing that thing she always does, leaning on the wall right next to the door with her arms crossed, like a bouncer or something. She's done that for as long as he can remember.

Before he leaves, he hovers in the doorway and then, kind of impulsively pulls her into a hug.

"I missed you, you know that?"

She doesn't push him away, but she doesn't answer either. Waits for him to withdraw on her own before saying "You never answered my question."

_Do you think you're a better hunter than me or something?_

"Grace…" It's all the answer she needs. She shakes her head.

"Go find Dad," she says, in a tone so even she's kind of proud of it.

He smiles, just before leaving-this sad, apologetic smile. She does not smile back.

The door clicks shut.

"So, um-" Grace jumps at the sound and turns around. Jess-now fully clothed-is standing just inside the room, by the hallway.

"Sorry," Jess says. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Grace shakes her head. "It's fine."

"I just-I didn't get the chance to say this earlier, but it's nice to meet you."

"You, too." And it is, really, even if it's kind of sad, too. Sam built a whole new life and Jess seems to be central to it. Grace can't help but be curious.

She gets the feeling that Jess is curious about her, too, which is fair.

"Can I get you anything? Soda, water?"

"Uh, no, that's okay-actually, yeah, water would be nice."

Jess smiles. "Water it is," she says, and heads into the kitchen.

Grace takes this opportunity to study the apartment, or the living room, anyway. The place is old and just a few steps above decrepit-the paint is peeling from the walls, and the floor squeaks as Jess leaves the room. Still, it has an open, homey vibe to it. There are pictures on the wall, just a few, of Sam-with Jess, and with other people that Grace has never met. He looks happy. Happier than she can remember him being.

"You know, you can sit down if you like." Grace jumps slightly and turns to see Jess holding two glasses. Grace nods a little.

"Thanks."

There's a moment of hesitation before she goes over and takes a seat on the couch. Jess joins her a moment later and hands her the glass.

"Thanks," Grace says again, more quietly. Jess nods, but doesn't say anything. The silence is stifling, sucking the air out of the room. Grace sets the water down and starts fidgeting with one of the many bracelets on her wrist. Jade and amethyst beads in an alternating pattern, with little symbols scratched onto them. The woman who sold it to her swore that they were Enochian, the language of angels. Grace isn't so sure, but it's a comforting thought.

"You look like your mom," Jess says suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Sorry. It's just, Sam has this picture of your guys' parents. You remind me of her."

Grace smiles a little, getting the same strange, warm feeling from before, from when Dean had credited her with finding the ESP earlier. She's seen pictures of her mother, too, but she's never seen a resemblance, and aside from Dean, no one else has commented on it. Grace may have shared her hair and eye color with her mother, but not her features. Mary was pretty. Grace was, in her own opinion, not.

She doesn't say any of this. Just smiles and says "Thanks."

"Of course."

For a moment, it seems like the awkward silence was going to return, but then Jess spoke up again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Uh...sure." Grace tries to keep the apprehension out of her voice.

"What's your family like? Sam doesn't talk about his childhood a lot, so."

_Just-please don't tell her anything. _Sam's words echo like chimes in her head and she runs through her childhood, trying to find something to say that will satisfy Jess's curiosity while protecting the truth.

It's a strange situation, one she has to maneuver carefully, because Grace doesn't know what normal is. She never has. Her life isn't normal and even within that context, she herself is not normal. Never has been.

"Well, we-we moved around a lot. Every couple months."

"I know that," Jess says, sounding mildly impatient.

Grace swallows slightly. _What am I supposed to say?_ Maybe she's coming at this from the wrong angle. Because Jess isn't asking what her childhood was like, not really. She's asking what Sam's childhood was like. She wants more than what Sam's already told her.

They're clearly close-they live together. Hunting made up such a big part of their childhood, and the parts that remain untouched-Sam's probably told her those.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he's kept some things to himself-out of bitterness, out of wanting to forget, forget the good between the bad. It's hard to hate something that has good in it-at least, it is for Grace. Maybe it's hard for Sam, too.

"They went on a donkey ride," she says finally. "Sam and Dean and my dad. Sam was like five. I was four and they wouldn't let me come-the Grand Canyon people, I mean. So I stayed with a family friend." Her nose wrinkles slightly at this-at both the memory of being left behind, and at the thought of said family friend.

Jess smiles a little. "That sounds sweet."

"You'll have to ask him about it. Although I'm not sure how much he remembers."

"He doesn't remember it but you do?"

"I have a strong long-term memory. It-" _It's an autism thing. _She shrugs. "My earliest memory is from when I was one."

"Really? What's the memory?"

_I was sitting on a motel bed, I reached for the remote on the dresser-I liked pressing the buttons. And I almost fell off and I was so so so so scared, but Dean saw and pulled me back up and I wouldn't let go of him and he didn't push me away. _

"I almost fell off a motel bed. Dean caught me."

"He sounds like a good brother."

"He is...mostly."

Jess smiles. "You know...I kinda know what it's like. Having brothers who don't treat you like an adult."

"You have brothers?"

"Cousins. But we all kinda grew up together. They're infuriating sometimes."

Grace nods, playing with one of her bracelets again. Square wooden beads with pictures of saints painted onto them. If she's being honest, her brothers are less infuriating than they are hurtful. They say that anger is a secondary emotion, something that people use to hide more vulnerable emotions from themselves, or others. Like an iceberg, where only the very top, the anger, was visible, while everything else lie beneath the surface.

Some people, to Grace, seem to have so much anger that if they really were icebergs, they'd be defying gravity, too top-heavy to float the way they did. Dean is like that. Grace is the opposite. She can never sustain anger very long, even when she tries. There's nothing to bury the hurt with, so she usually just tries her best to ignore it.

"How do you deal with them?" Grace asks, facing Jess for the first time.

Jess sighs. "Eventually...eventually you realize that sometimes it's okay to put yourself first. That if someone is angry at you, or disappointed, it doesn't always have to be your problem."

Something about that sounds...well, she's not sure how it's making her feel, exactly, but it makes her feel something, like something just lit up inside her.

It's quiet for a moment, but not nearly as awkward this time. Finally, Jess starts to stand up. "So, I'm really sorry, I gotta catch some sleep, but-"

"I'm gonna go after them."

"Huh?" Jess's eyebrows rise. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Grace?" Absently, Grace notices that there is no beat between "idea" and "Grace," no hesitation. Jess didn't stop to wonder if she's allowed to say Grace's name, or if that's too familiar or something, the way Grace usually does with new people.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I just, I gotta do this. But, um, I need you to promise me something."

"I-I'll try my best." Jess still seems caught off-guard by this turn of events. Grace is too, if she's being honest with herself, but she rarely ever is. She stands up and slips off her favorite bracelet-little wooden beads strung onto a leather cord, with one big lapiz lazuli bead and a silver charm hanging next to it-and holds it out to Jess.

"I want you to wear this."

"I-Grace, it's pretty, but-"

"It's okay. It's not a gift. I'll come back for it. I just need you to borrow it and wear it." The bracelet, like all of Grace's jewelry, is aimed towards protection, and despite Grace's belief that Jess is firmly outside the monster collective's radar, she can't help but feel bad for breaking her promise to Sam.

Jess watches her for a long moment before finally taking the bracelet. "Can I ask why?"

"Yeah. It, uh, it's for protection." She feels a blush creep back into her cheeks. _I must sound ridiculous._

"I need protection?" Jess smiles again, sounding amused.

"I think we all do." And really, given the world in which Grace knows they live, it isn't a lie.

"Does crypticness run in your family?"

Grace smiles a little. "Probably."

Jess sighs. "Alright," she says, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist. "Well, tell Sam I love him."

"I'll let him know." Grace smiles and turns to leave, but Jess catches her arm.

"Wait."

She hesitates before turning; she can feel herself blushing again.

"Just...tell me where you're going? Where is he?"

"He's in Jericho. Just a few hours away." Grace smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring way. "It'll be fine."


End file.
